Mud Wrestling
by TresMaxwell
Summary: 1 Greg plus 1 man he’s wanted to jump on since his first day at work plus 3 buckets of mud minus most of their clothes equals 1 very, very awkward situation... NickXGreg


TITLE: Mud Wrestling  
WARNINGS: M/M  
RATING: PG-13  
PAIRINGS: Nick/Greg  
ARCHIVES: If you'd like, just let me know and give me credit…  
FEEDBACK: sits up on hind legs and begs Please…  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters of CSI, they belong to CBS and all of the creators. The story idea is entirely mine. Don't bother suing me, I live in a cardboard box in the gutter, or at least my mind does…

Oh, this was just too much fun… Not to be taken too seriously .

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"What are you doing?"

Gil looked up from his work, which was currently in a 20 gallon bucket with a hose. He quirked an eyebrow like the answer to her question should be obvious. Unfortunately, if it was obvious, Catherine wasn't catching on. As far as she could tell, Grissom was making mud. He had several empty bags that were labeled, 'Trenor Case: Dirt', and hose hooked up to the lab garage's water supply.

"I'm doing an experiment. Will you hand me that shovel?"

She glanced behind her and grabbed the tool he'd indicated. He shut off the water and used the shovel to stir the thick substance in the tub. Catherine leaned over to get a better look, but it wasn't any more enlightening than Gil's answer.

The brown mess was starting to look like chocolate cake batter, if the cake was meant to have rocks and leaf-litter in it. When Grissom was satisfied with it, he slung the remaining mud off the shovel and dumped the concoction onto a sheet of plastic on the floor.

Catherine was about to leave Gil to his 'experiment' when he called her back, "Will you go get Nick and Greg for me?"

She turned back with a raised eyebrow and a look of suspicion, "Okay, why do you need mud and Nick and Greg? What kind of experiment is this?"

He heaved an exasperated sigh and asked again, "Will you just go get them, please?"

Defeated, Catherine tossed up her hands and left. While he waited, Gil mixed up a second batch of mud and added it to the first, completely covering the square tarp. He stepped back to examine his work and decided that one more layer of muck would give the right effect. He was in the midst of mixing the last batch when the two men arrived in the garage.

Both were obviously perplexed by Gil's request for their presence, but Greg's curiosity obviously outweighed his confusion. A silly little smirk was twisting up the edges of Greg's mouth when he came inside. He pulled up his lab coat and knelt beside the tarp. "So, what's the mud for? All Cath said was that you needed us for an experiment," he mentioned casually and ran his finger through the edge of the dirty concoction.

Grissom didn't look up at either of them, just continued to prepare the last of mud. "Strip," he ordered bluntly.

Nick choked on absolutely nothing, coughing heavily for a moment before he could collect himself. "What!" he forced out between gasps for air. A lot of things took Nick by surprise, he was a pretty jumpy guy after all, but that order nearly gave him a cardiac arrest. There was no way he'd heard that right.

Greg took it with a little more grace. Granted, his eyes had gone impossibly wide, but he hadn't choked on the air he was breathing. He watched Grissom add the last of the mud to the tarp, venturing to ask, "Um… why?"

"Because I don't think this mud will come out of your clothes and we need good imprints."

"Imprints?" Nick managed to squeak. He was having a hard time comprehending what exactly Grissom wanted them to do. Well, Gil had yet to actually explain it yet, but it didn't involve clothing and that alone confused him.

"Yes, imprints. I want to recreate the scene as accurately as possible. There are a lot of markings in the mud that suggest a struggle and I want to know how they were made."

Greg tentatively slid his lab coat off his shoulders and laid it on the only table in the room. "So, this is a joke, right? You're kidding… right?"

"Yeah, a joke. Good one Gris. You really had us going there," Nick laughed nervously, slightly relieved. An uncertain smile broke out on his face and he crossed his arms over his chest. His smile faded instantly when his supervisor met his gaze. Gil's expression was completely unreadable, save for the slightest hint of irritation.

"Boys, the mud is going to dry. Strip now."

Greg and Nick traded glances. The Texan fingered the edge of his shirt for a moment before stripping it off. He balled it up between his hands, nervously twisting it as he asked, "Everything? Cause, Gris, I'm not so sure I'm comfortable with that."

Realization dawned on their supervisor's face and he sat back on his heels. He'd been too wrapped up in the experiment to even consider the implications of harassment. Grissom pulled off his glasses with a sigh and readjusted his request, "Take off as much as you feel comfortable with."

The goofy lab tech turned the subject around to lighten things up, asking, "So, what exactly are we doing here?"

"We're going to try and re-enact what happened at the scene. Greg, you're about the same height and weight as the victim and Nick is about the same as our main suspect. I want you two to wrestle."

"In the mud?"

"In the mud."

This was going to be bad. A few hundred scenarios twirled around in Greg's mind as he unbuttoned his shirt. He dared a glance at Nick and his chocolate-brown eyes couldn't help but stray to the man's well-muscled chest and stomach. This was going to be very bad.

A quick equation came to him as he bent to untie his neon orange tennis-shoes: one Greg + one man he's wanted to jump on since his first day at work + three buckets of mud – most of their clothes one very, very awkward situation. But there was one variable that hadn't been part of the equation, one watching boss.

Greg swallowed and decided to leave his jeans on, after all, the more clothes between him and Nick, the better. Drunken butterflies somehow found their way into his stomach and he wondered, offhandedly, when the nervous spasms of the stomach wall had come to be known as butterflies. It wasn't like it felt like butterflies. In fact, it didn't remotely feel like any kind of bug, not that he'd ever swallowed a live bug before. He was going to have to ask Grissom for a first-hand reference for something like that.

Greg became very grateful that he'd decided to keep his mouth shut, because he'd be talking about twenty miles a minute at that moment if he hadn't. His mouth just ran like a faucet when he was jittery, something he'd done since he was little. His mother found him writing on the walls when he was five and still swears to this day that she'd thought he was going to talk her ear off. Was nervous talking a disorder that was hereditary? He'd have to look into that.

After what seemed to be a moment of consideration, Nick pulled off his slacks and tossed them with the rest of his clothes, leaving only his boxer-briefs. Greg's racing mind stilled instantly. Nick's body was that of a sex-symbol that had a part time job as an Olympic runner. But body and mind didn't always match. Where the level three CSI looked liked he belonged on a Calvin Klein ad, the deep crimson blush spreading across his neck and face said that he definitely wasn't conceded about his appearance.

It was too bad that the Texan was a lady's man, because he could have men throwing themselves at his feet and Greg would be the first one there. Nick's perfect body suddenly made the lab tech keenly aware of his own appearance. Where Mr. Stokes was the perfect example of a golden God, he was the definition of geek. His skin was pale and he had no muscle structure to speak of. Sure, he was slim, but he had nothing that could possibly attract such a…

Grissom's voice interrupted his wandering thoughts, "Alright, I want you two to wing it. Wrestle like you might if you were horsing around, just don't hurt each other."

Nick took his place at one side of the tarp, eyeing Greg with a playful challenge on his lips, "Oh, you are so going down." He'd definitely gotten over his initial discomfort about the situation and had shifted into competitive Nick mode.

Greg got positioned on the other side, hoping desperately that no one could see the sweat on his brow. He let his mouth return Nick's challenge, because it wouldn't be normal if he didn't, saying smartly, "You really think so? I hope you still have your optimism when I've got you pinned to the floor."

Gil rolled his eyes at their banter and picked up his clipboard. "I'm ready when you are, if you're done with the preliminaries," he commented with a touch of sarcasm.

A heartbeat passed and then it was like someone pulled the trigger, the two young men slammed together. Hands scrabbled to find purchase on biceps, shoulders, anything they came in contact with. In that first collision, the pessimistic part of Greg's mind already knew who was going to win. Nick was powerful and Greg had to move twice as fast to keep from being overwhelmed.

Fortunately, the battle was intense enough to drag the lab tech's thoughts away from his insane desire to plant one on Nick then and there. It took all of his brain power to stay one step ahead of A&M alumni.

Off to the side, Gil calmly took note of every print they made. The really useful stuff wouldn't come until one of them was knocked to the ground, but every scrap of information would help him interpret what had happened to his victim. He dodged a flying globule of mud that was flung up by Nick's bare feet and continued recording.

Greg ducked beneath Nick's grasping arms and firmly shoved his shoulder into the Texan's gut. A satisfying 'umpf' from Nick confirmed solid contact, but he didn't have enough force behind the blow to knock him down. Nick's arms circled his waist and he immediately regretted the move. And then he was viewing the world from upside-down. Nick had picked him up like he was a down feather, all one hundred and forty-five pounds of him!

Well, it wasn't like he was a heavy-weight by any means and Nick had probably picked up heavier things, but Greg was having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact. In pro-wrestling, this would be the moment in which Nick took him down in a pile-driver, but Greg thanked god that he wasn't part of the WWE. Instead, Nick hesitated. He had a big armful of Greg that he didn't know what to do with and that gave the lab rat a chance to retaliate.

The DNA specialist repositioned himself in a quick jerk of his lower body and slid right out of Nick's grasp. He put out his hands to break the fall, landing partially on one shoulder, and rolled back to his feet. Cold, slimy muck crawled over his back where he'd made contact with the tarp, but he ignored it. Nick gave his evasive move a look of surprise and approval before lunging back in.

If he acts like this during horseplay, then he must be aggressive in the sack.

The thought caught Greg so off-guard that his previously sure footing slid right out from under him. He went down, hard, pulling Nick with him. The CSI landed on all fours over the younger man, panting from the exertion. And, suddenly, it wasn't about the fight anymore. Nick was hot and sweaty and leaning over him, his eyes nearly black with an emotion that Greg couldn't place. He could feel his body reacting instantly to Nick's proximity.

He took back all his previous calculations; this was sooooo much worse than bad. He was a scientist, he was allowed to change his theory once more evidence presented itself. But, regrettably, the evidence was saying that there was no way he could get out of this without making a fool of himself. Greg had to get out of the garage before his body took over the thinking for his numb brain, because his body knew EXACTLY what it wanted.

Greg threw his weight up against Nick (must not think about the way his torso feels so hot against him) and managed to knock the Texan off balance. He scrambled on the slick plastic, but didn't get far.

"Shit!" was the first word that had fallen from his mouth since the fight had started. Greg normally didn't cuss, but the situation called for it. Well, the broad hand that had wrapped around his ankle called for it. Nick pulled him back easily and he left long finger trails in the mud.

Completely forgotten, Gil had his pen between his teeth. He had been about to tell Greg to fight back, but there was something congruent with his attempt to escape. The markings were all right. So someone had definitely been trying to escape during the fight. Grissom vision was in place and the two bodies on the floor weren't his guys, but the suspect and Bert Trenor. Now, all they had to figure out was which one was the aggressor.

Greg rolled onto his back and grabbed onto Nick's shoulders. If Nick wasn't going to let him get away, then he was going to have to win. That was not going to be easy. Every muscle in Nick's body went rigid and Greg was certain that he'd have an easier time pushing over a brick wall.

The dark-haired CSI gained the upper hand by twisting sideways and letting Greg's own momentum work against him. Greg's face met the mud without being properly introduced. The sudden impact left him dazed and with little stars of pain dancing behind his eyelids. It was humiliating.

A strong grip on his arm pulled him back up and tender fingers wiped the muck away from his eyes and mouth.

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't think you'd face-plant," Nick said with a hint of amusement. Greg couldn't take it. The man's touch was too gentle and his body was too close, too warm.

"Stop," the lab technician snapped and pushed at the offending hands. Nick pulled away, a hurt expression on his face.

"I didn't mean…"

Greg's heart twisted into a little knot. How could Nick inspire such guilt with just a look? It didn't seem fair. "No, you didn't do anything… I'm sorry," he muttered and ran the back of his hand over his mouth.

The pained expression faded as Nick gave a little attempt to brighten Greg's mood, "So, does this mean that I won? I mean, considering you gave up and all."

"I did not give up!"

"I'd say that you did. I think you would have let yourself drown in that mud if I hadn't of pulled you out," Nick drawled playfully. The verbal poke did the trick and the brown-eyed lab tech tackled him with a growl of 'I'll show you!'

Both fell back into the mud and the mock battle continued. Rather than go back to his losing streak, Greg broke out the cheap tricks. It could be said that he was 'fighting dirty' but the mud already implied filth and the pun would be far too simple to be funny.

Nick very nearly had him pinned a second time, but a quick pinch and twist of a nipple remedied that situation.

"Ow! Greg, you little cheater!"

The grin that spread across his face just couldn't be stopped as he moved nimbly out of Nick's reach. Greg tried to get back to his feet, but Nick was a lot faster than he'd give him credit for. The Texan pounced on him and pinned his shoulders firmly to the ground.

Greg laughed and turned to face him and his heart stopped. That same look had returned to Nick's eyes, the look that made his gaze almost black with intensity. A faint whimper escaped Greg's throat before he could stop it and he squirmed under that soul-piercing scrutiny. It felt like Nick's gaze was going to set him ablaze from the inside out.

Something clicked in his head and he had a million terms for the darkness in Nick's eyes: lust, want, need, passion. And to be the subject of it caused Greg's blood pressure to increase tenfold. Before he could make another sound, Nick claimed his mouth possessively.

The kiss was hungry and aggressive and everything Greg had ever hoped for and too much and not enough. Nick's tongue quickly mapped every square inch of his mouth; going in deep enough that Greg was certain he was licking his tonsils.

The lab tech's brain jump-started and took off running a million miles a minute about this new development, but it was interrupting his body's need to revel in every moment of this kiss. Fortunately, the primal part of his brain, that part that Freud named the Id, got up and strangled his conscious thought and went back to enjoying the sexual stimulation it was receiving. In its dying breath, the sane part of him reminded him to think about Grissom.

Greg shot upright, shoving Nick off of him. He tried to pull himself together (when did his pants come undone?) and glanced over at the chair Gil had been sitting in.

"Wait, where's Grissom?"

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Greg ran a hand through his freshly cleaned hair and sighed. He and Nick were the only two in the break-room but they let silence fall between them. They hadn't actually seen Grissom yet, but they could only assume that they were both getting fired. Gil had probably left shortly after their little make-out session had begun and just hadn't figured out how to approach them about it.

The level three CSI set down his coffee mug and dared a glance at the room's other occupant. He was tired of watching the janitor clean up their muddy footprints anyway. Greg had his face firmly planted in his hands, hiding from the world.

"Listen, he can't be that mad…" Nick ventured and sank down into the nearest chair.

"Oh no? We just started making out while he was sitting in the room and during an experiment no less! We are so screwed!" Greg all but wailed. It caused the Texan to wince. He wasn't going to deny that. Grissom was very particular about professional behavior at the lab, and having some serious suck-face time during one of his beloved experiments was not going to go over well.

Nick rubbed the younger man's back in an attempt to comfort him, but movement in the hall caught his eye. "Speak of the devil, here he comes. Brace yourself," he said and got to his feet.

Their supervisor gave them both a funny look before poking his head through the door. "What are you two doing in here?"

Nick tried to reason before he blew up at them, "Listen, Gris, about what happened…"

"Oh, yes. I got all the information I needed, good work."

That threw them for a tailspin.

"But…"

"I'm sorry I ran off before telling you that the experiment was over, but you both seemed to be having a good time."

"Yeah, about that…"

"We should have more than enough to work with. Brass has got the suspect in interrogation now. You should both get back to work; we don't pay you by the coffee break."

Before either of them could even reason out what was happening, Grissom was out the door. Nick blinked a few times and looked over his shoulder at Greg. "What just happened?" he asked weakly.

The shock slowly released its hold on Greg and he managed to shake his head. "I guess that means we get to keep our jobs? If that's the case, then I think we should help Grissom with experiments more often."

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End


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